Sisterhood
by Little Polveir
Summary: A story of how three young women, with three different pasts, are brought together through one vocation.
1. Chapter 1

August 1945

The midsummer sun was burning the back of his neck, the breeze whipped the dust around him, sticking it to his sweat-drenched forehead. He mopped his brow on his sleeve, slicking back his dark hair as he did so. Private McKinley, tall and burly, and his colleagues, strode cautiously through Changi, searching for survivors. War, at last was over, this was their final task. The final task before heading home.

"Home" he thought dreamily, "home to Suffolk, the farm, his wife and little girl, to his silly old Collie. Home to safety, home to freedom. Two and a half years in the Far East was more than enough for any man."

Breaking away from the rest of his unit, he headed towards a tumble-down building. Sat on the ground, leaning against the rough mud-brick wall, was a young girl. Noticing his approach she recoiled into the wall. He stopped a few paces away from her and lowered his rifle to the ground.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

The girl did not react immediately. Cowering slightly at the man's formidable presence, she then slowly turned her clear blue eyes towards his brown, meeting them for a fraction of a second, before darting them away again.

Private McKinley stepped back a pace, then crouched down on the dirt floor beside the pitiful looking child. Her flame red hair was greasy and matted, clinging to her cheeks and neck in places, her face and arms mottled with dirt, rags hung loosely around her spindly frame, her bare feet, cut and bruised, at the ends of sore-ridden shins.

"You can trust me," he whispered, "its all over now, the Japs are done for."

"Patience" the girl whispered back after a moment, "Patience Mount."

"That's a nice name," Private McKinley replied kindly, reaching out his hand as he did, but rapidly pulled it away as Patience recoiled. The girl's breathing was shallow, her eyes, mistrusting. Private McKinley shuffled further back, watching Patience with intrigue.

Patience turned to look at the tall, dark stranger stood beside her. Something about him struck a chord of familiarity. He reminded her of someone she knew. Not in his looks, his height, his build, his hair, no, they were all wrong. But the tunic, the boots, the gun. That was how he looked, just like that, the last time she saw him.

"Do you know my father?" Patience asked.

Private McKinley's brown eyes widened in alarm, and stammered and stuttered for a moment, unable to form anything resembling coherent speech. After a moment, he swallowed, and replied.

"What's your father's name?"

"Gerard Mount," Patience replied, "though his friends call him Gerry," she added.

Private McKinley's mind was blank, the name meant nothing to him, but, as he seemed to be gaining this young girl's trust, he asked gently.

"Is your father a soldier?"

"He had a shirt like yours," Patience replied, reaching out to run her fingers across Private McKinley's cuff, "his felt the same."

"I don't know your father," Private McKinley began, "but," he continued as she saw Patience's face fall, "my friends might know where he is, shall we go and ask them?"

Patience looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. Private McKinley helped her to her feet, and the two of them walked hand in hand towards the gate which led into the prison. There they were met by another soldier, short and round, carrying a small book.

"Name!" he barked, staring menacingly at Patience.

Private McKinley felt Patience's hand tremble in his own. When she didn't answer, he said.

"This is Patience Mount, sir."

"How old are you?" the other soldier asked.

"You can tell him," Private McKinley said quietly to Patience, "Captain Coleman's my, ur, friend."

Captain Coleman scoffed and snorted disapprovingly, but, Patience plucked up the courage to respond.

"I'm twelve years old, and I was here with my mother and my sister, but," her voice faltered slightly, "they are dead now."

"And your father?" Captain Coleman continued slightly less brusquely.

"Do you know him?" Patience asked hopefully, her eyes widening and sparkling.

"Think he was serving with us out here," Private McKinley interjected before Captain Coleman could scoff further disapproval, "Gerry Mount?"

"Never heard of him," Captain Coleman barked, "right, put her on the Jeep with the others ready for the boat."

"Boat, sir?"

"Can't leave orphaned British citizens behind, so we've been told to take home them with us, the church will shelter them until proper homes and schools are found, best thing, apparently," he added with a disgruntled snort.

"But what about her father?" Private McKinley protested.

Captain Coleman pulled Private McKinley away from Patience, rotating him so that they had their backs to her. He then whispered,

"If her whole family were here, they must have been living out here when Singapore fell. Her father won't be alive now. It's a miracle she's still here. Now, leave her with me, do another sweep."

"But," Private McKinley began.

"That's an order Private!" Captain Coleman barked menacingly, and with a last fleeting look towards his red-haired companion, Private McKinley strode off back into the prison.

Turning back towards Patience, Captain Coleman said, "go and get on the back of that Jeep, we're all going on a journey, won't that be fun," he added with a hint of sarcasm.

Patience nodded, and, without a word, clambered aboard the Jeep and settled herself onto a crate of supplies between two soldiers. The engine chugged and spluttered into life and the Jeep's passengers were soon buffeted and bounced around as they made their way along the pockmarked road towards the harbour. Whilst the soldiers around her laughed, joked and shared stories, Patience remained silent, yet thoughtful.

"What is to happen to me?"


	2. Chapter 2

September 1945

"No Rosa, you can't do that!"

A tall, slim, pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed girl ran up the lane, jumped over the small brook that ran parallel to it, before vaulting over a set of timber rails into a large paddock. A shorter, chunkier, younger girl with brown hair and eyes ran behind her, puffing and panting in her struggle to keep pace with her elder sister.

"You watch me Kitty," Rosa replied gleefully leaning her arms on the top rail of the fence.

"But, but," Kitty panted, "what happens if Mr Bailey sees you again?"

"He won't," Rosa replied mischievously, "Red Robin and Lord Benjamin are running at the big meeting at Doncaster today, I saw it in the paper, he will have gone there. He won't be back until tomorrow."

"But what about Mr Pitts?"

"This time of day he'll be fast asleep in the hay barn."

"I'll tell Mum!" Kitty blurted out in one last desperate attempt to make her sister see sense.

"Go on then," Rosa mocked, glaring at her sister, waiting for her to run off, but knowing full well she would not move. "Go on," she repeated.

When Kitty did not move, Rosa span on her heels away from the fence, pulled a length of rope out of her coat pocket, and began to stride confidently towards a fine, dapple-grey stallion. The horse raised his head as he saw Rosa approach, but rather than fleeing, wandered nonchalantly over to her. He rubbed his salmon-pink nose on Rosa's shoulder, then snorted into her hair.

"Hello Sid," Rosa cooed affectionately, "I haven't been to see you for a while, have I? I am sorry."

Sid snorted back at her, which, smiling, she interpreted as forgiveness.

"Look boy," Rosa continued, pulling out a crumpled newspaper clipping showing a picture of two racehorses, neck and neck at the winning post. The caption read 'Sydney Harbour beats Dark Sapphire in the 2:40 at Ascot by a short head.' "Look, there's you, you did very well didn't you?"

Sydney Harbour tossed his grey head majestically and Rosa began to giggle.

"You are a showman aren't you?"

Rosa stuffed the newspaper clipping back into her pocket and ran her hand across Sydney Harbour's flank. Then, straightening the rope, she began to wrap it around his head, securing it with a tight knot under his gullet. Lifting her makeshift reins over his head, she took a long look around her to make sure the coast was clear before jumping onto his back. She shuffled forward so she was sat perched on the thoroughbred's angular withers, and set off at a trot back towards the fence. Kitty was stood in the field, her arms folded across her chest, an attempt at a menacing scowl painted across her face.

"I'm telling Mum!" Kitty called as the grey horse came to a halt beside the fence.

"So you said," Rosa drawled, "but Mum is at home, not here, so hadn't you better, you know, go away!"

"Right I'm telling!" Kitty screamed, but her screams were drowned out by the gasp which was coming from Rosa's mouth.

At the sound of Kitty screaming, Sydney Harbour had shied away in alarm, snorting and whinnying, spinning and kicking. Realising what she had done, Kitty began to apologise, tears of fear beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

"Stand back!" Rosa called to Kitty.

But Kitty did not hear her sister's warning. Sydney Harbour reared up on his back legs and Rosa, unable to keep with him, slid off out the side door, landing in a heap on the ground. The horse galloped off across the field, and clutching her side, Rosa struggled to her feet. Then she saw what had happened. Kitty was lying motionless on the ground a little way off, a deep cut above her right eye was bleeding heavily. Rosa was panic-struck. She ran to where her sister was sprawled on the ground and began to shake her.

"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty" she wailed, "wake up, please."

"Urgh," Kitty moaned, "urgh, I'm gonna be." Kitty, unable to finish her sentence, projectile vomited across her sister, before sinking into the ground again, motionless once again.

Rosa had to force herself not to be sick as she tried to clean her pinafore as best she could. She ran back to the fence, jumped over it, then ran the half mile down into the village. Gasping for breath she knocked on the door of Dr Mulligan's ivy-covered stone cottage.

Dr Mulligan opened the door and looked in alarm at the child, out of breath and covered with vomit, standing on his doorstep. He looked at her over the top of his horn-rimmed reading glasses and said,

"Whatever is the matter child?"

"It's my sister, she got kicked by one of Mr Bailey's racehorses, and it's all my fault and now she's not moving and she was sick all over me," Rosa garbled.

"Steady now," Dr Mulligan said calmly, "where is she now?"

"In Orchard Field, just before the road takes that sharp turn,"

"Let's take my car and you can show me," Dr Mulligan said gently.

Five minutes later Rosa watched with trembling knees as Dr Mulligan examined her semi-conscious sister in the field. After what seemed an eternity, Dr Mulligan picked Kitty up and carried her back to the fence. Between the two of them, they managed to lay her across the back seat of the car.

"There's no broken bones, thankfully," Dr Mulligan confirmed, "but she has something called concussion, which means that she will need plenty of rest and looking after. And that cut will need stitching and regular re-dressing."

"Oh," Rosa murmured.

"I will have to speak to your mother," Dr Mulligan continued, "is she at home?"

Rosa nodded.

"Good," Dr Mulligan replied, and the car fell silent.

"What on earth has happened?" Mrs Yates squealed as she saw Dr Mulligan and Rosa carrying Kitty up the pathway.

"Kitty's had a bit of an accident," Dr Mulligan began, "had a run in with one of Mr Bailey's…"

"What!" Mrs Yates gasped, "What do you mean? Rosa?"

"Urgh," Kitty moaned, and the sight and sound of her daughter stunned Mrs Yates into silence. Rosa breathed a gentle sigh of relief.

"Your daughter is going to need medical attention and observation for the next few days," Dr Mulligan continued.

"But, we can't afford it," Mrs Yates protested, "I can barely afford to feed them on my war widow's pension."

"I understand," Dr Mulligan soothed. "I will contact the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus. They are an order of nuns who are also nurses and midwives. They are based in Chichester, but they are expanding their work to nearby villages. They do not charge fees as high as we do. They will be able to care for Kitty. Now, she needs to be kept warm, and only let her have small sips of water."

"Yes, doctor."


	3. Chapter 3

The morning after Kitty's accident was as bright and crisp as its predecessor, the sort of day that the Yates sisters would usually have been outside with the other children from the village, or, if Rosa had had her own way, up at Sussex Stables, watching Mr Bailey put his string of racehorses through their paces on the gallops. But this morning was different. Rosa sat on the edge of her bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, her large blue eyes red from crying, watching her sister, head bandaged, sprawled on the other bed in their tiny bedroom, deeply asleep.

"I'm so sorry Kitty," Rosa whispered, "I will never, ever forgive myself."

Rosa's musings were suddenly interrupted by a heavy rap on the cottage door. She dried her eyes on the sleeve of her nightdress, slipped her feet into her shoes, and traipsed down the stairs, calling "coming!" as she did so. Rosa pulled the heavy wooden door open, its hinges squeaking and stiff. She let out a small gasp and her mouth formed an o-shape as she saw who was standing on her front doorstep.

Rosa did not recognise the lady. In fact she had never seen anyone like her before. She was taller than Rosa, but not overly tall, with a kind, oval face, almond-shaped eyes and rounded cheeks, tinged pink by the early autumnal chill. She was wearing a white headdress, a dark blue robe and a wooden cross on a string around her neck. In her hand was a slightly battered brown leather case, and behind her, propped up against the garden wall, was a bright red bicycle.

"Hello," Rosa said suspiciously.

"Good morning," the unusually dressed lady chirped, taking Rosa's hand and shaking it firmly, a bright smile spreading across her face.

"Um, how, can I help?" Rosa asked, the suspicion growing more evident in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies," the lady replied, "my name is Sister Jesu Emanuel of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus," she continued in a tone which suggested to Rosa that she may have said it more than once, "and I am here to treat Miss Katherine Yates, who I understand had a slight accident with a horse."

"Oh, yes," Rosa replied, not daring to look at Sister Jesu, "she's my sister, I'm Rosa, Dr Mulligan said a nurse was coming."

"I am a nurse," Sister Jesu replied, "and a nun" she added as she watched Rosa's eyes scan her from her wimple to her battered lace-ups, "that's what our Order does, we serve God through prayer and his people through care. Hmm, that's got quite a nice ring to it!"

"Yes," Rosa murmured, "um, come in," she added, stepping out of the doorway and allowing Sister Jesu to pass, "I don't think we have any tea, would you like some hot milk?"

"No, thank you," Sister Jesu smiled.

"Kitty's upstairs," Rosa said, "I'll take you to her," and the young girl skipped up the stairs, with the nun in tow behind her. Upon entering their bedroom, Rosa called out,

"Kitty, Kitty, the nurse is here."

Kitty stirred underneath her blankets, sat up and stretched. She caught sight of Sister Jesu, and rubbed her eyes, starring at the nun in disbelief.

"Hello Kitty, my name is Sister Jesu Emanuel of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus" Sister Jesu began in her noticeably polished tone, which, trying to supress a giggle, caused a small smile to spread across Rosa's face. "Kitty, I'm here to have a look at that cut above your eye, is that alright?"

Kitty nodded sleepily and Sister Jesu sat on the edge of her bed and began to remove things from her leather case. Scissors, gauze and sterile dressings were all laid out on Kitty's bed when Sister Jesu paused and looked at Rosa. Rosa's eyes narrowed in expectation.

"Is your mother in?" Sister Jesu asked?

"No," Rosa replied, "she's out, delivering the papers" she added.

"And your father?"

Rosa's blue eyes widened and she attempted to blink back tears. Sister Jesu's stomach lurched; she knew she had said the wrong thing.

"Dad died in the war," Rosa sniffed, "that's why Mum is working. Her war widow's pension is not enough, and Dad had no savings, or anything like that."

"And she leaves you two by yourselves?"

Rosa nodded, "when there is no school anyway."

"How old are you?"

"I'm thirteen and Kitty is nine. The rest of the family live in Yorkshire."

Sister Jesu swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, then said, "could you get me a basin of hot water please?"

"Yes of course," Rosa chirped, glad of something to do. She skipped out of the room and down the stairs into the back of the cottage where the fire was just still glowing in the grate from when her mother had lit it first thing. After throwing a lump of wood onto it and poking the embers, more in hope than expectation, Rosa took a copper pot from the fireside. Ducking underneath the climbing roses trailing above the door, she went into the yard behind the row of cottages, and filled the pot from the hand pump. Returning to the fire, she placed the pot above it and waited until bubbles were breaking the water's surface. Filling a chipped pudding basin from the pan, Rosa slowly crept back up the stairs, trying not to spill a drop.

"Is this enough?" Rosa asked Sister Jesu as she re-entered the bedroom.

Peering over the rim of the pudding basin, Sister Jesu replied, "yes, that will be quite sufficient. Now, Rosa, do you want to help me, so that you know what to do if something happens when you're on your own here?"

The very thought caused a shiver to course down Rosa's spine. She looked over at her sister and, catching sight of the scar and the blood-stained dressings that Sister Jesu had already peeled back from Kitty's head, her stomach gave an almighty jolt and she had to use all her will-power to prevent herself being sick. Seeing the pained expression on Rosa's face, Sister Jesu smiled and said,

"There's nothing to be afraid of, it's only a drop of blood."

Rosa looked far from convinced and remained motionless, trying to focus on Sister Jesu's face rather than her sister.

"Deep breath, be brave," Sister Jesu reassured brightly.

Taking the suggested deep breath, Rosa stepped forward, and taking the moistened piece of muslin from Sister Jesu's hand and looked at her expectantly.

"Gently wipe around the cut, though be careful of the stitches, we don't want them coming out."

Rosa felt her stomach lurch again, but fighting her gag reflex, began to wipe the area around the cut above Kitty's eye, as gently as she could, not daring to touch the stitches.

"That's perfect!" Sister Jesu confirmed, "now, here's the bandage, I want you to wrap that round Kitty's head, and then I'll secure it."

Rosa complied and then watched as Sister Jesu pinned the bandage in place.

"Well now Kitty," Sister Jesu chirped brightly, patting the younger girl on the arm, "I will return tomorrow to see how you are doing, you can get up and dressed if you like, though perhaps best to stay indoors for a day or two, alright?"

Kitty nodded in reply.

"We don't want any more accidents do we?" Sister Jesu finished, her eyes flickering between Rosa and Kitty. Kitty shook her head, Rosa remained motionless, her eyes turned downcast. "Right, I must head back to Chichester."

Sister Jesu left the girls' bedroom and headed down the creaky wooden stairs. Rosa followed a few paces behind. On reaching the front door, Sister Jesu began to lift the latch to let herself out when Rosa stopped her and said,

"What about the money?"

"Your mother can pay us when she is able, do not worry," Sister Jesu said kindly.

Rosa nodded in thoughtful understanding, then, opening the front door, said,

"See you tomorrow, um, Sister Jesu Emanuel."

"Goodbye Rosa," Sister Jesu called as she clambered onto her bicycle and began to pedal away towards the high street and the main road to Chichester.

For the next few weeks, Sister Jesu continued to attend to Kitty's wound. More often than not she found Rosa and Kitty alone at home, but occasionally their mother was there too. On the morning after her final visit, Sister Jesu accompanied the two girls she had grown so fond of to the village school. They dropped Kitty off at the entrance to the junior school, then crossed the yard to a smaller building where the elder children of the village were schooled.

"I wasn't clever enough to get into Grammar School," Rosa said apologetically, "so that's why I'm here."

"Don't be ashamed," Sister Jesu soothed, "anyone can succeed if they work hard and do their best. You can be anything you want," she added kindly.

"Did you always want to be a nun?" Rosa asked.

"No," Sister Jesu replied, "when I was your age, I wanted all sorts of things, but, well, things don't always happen the way you want them to. Sometimes, things happen, you don't always know why, but they do, but I believe things worked out for the best."

Rosa looked at Sister Jesu thoughtfully and said,

"Is being a nun a good thing? It seems a bit of a strange thing to do, leave home, wear strange clothes all the time, pray every day, even change your name. What bad things happened to you which meant that that was the best thing that could happen?"

An affectionate glow spread across Sister Jesu's face at the innocence of Rosa's remark. She stretched out her hand and ran her fingers through her companion's long, fair, hair.

"Nothing bad happened to me, my dear child, in fact something wonderful happened." Rosa's mouth twisted into a confused curl. "One day," Sister Jesu continued, "when you know what path through life you should be on, you will understand, now," she added, straightening the collar of Rosa's blouse, "you're going to be late, goodbye, and God bless you all."

"Goodbye Sister," Rosa called as she crossed the threshold into the school house, pondering her companion's remarks.


	4. Chapter 4

November 1945

"Wake up Davy, it's time to go to church!"

"Urgh!" David groaned as, with bleary eyes, he tried to focus on his elder sister's cheery, pretty face, curtained with dark brown hair "what time is it?" he yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

"Seven-thirty!" came a bubbly reply.

"Cynth!" David protested, "It's too early to get up for anything, especially church. And it's freezing, hey give that back!" he added as Cynthia whipped the blanket from around her brother's shoulders.

"We have to go, it's Sunday, it's a sin if you don't go," she added with an air of authority.

"I thought you wanted to be a nurse when you grow up, not a nun!" David teased, "Or have you just mixed them up in your woolly head?"

"Huh!" Cynthia gasped, "You are so rude! I do not have a woolly head!" She picked up a pillow and hit her brother across the face. "And," she added, poking David in the side, "of course I know the difference between a nurse and a nun."

"Owwww!" David squealed, grasping his face in mock anguish, "I hope you won't treat sick people like that."

"Of course I won't!" Cynthia replied looking a little crestfallen, realising what she had done, the pillow swinging gently at her side.

"Good, now go away so I can go to sleep," David replied, snatching his blanket out of his sister's hand and rolling it up around himself, curled into a ball and emitted a series of loud, fake, snores.

"Oh you are hopeless!" Cynthia sighed and skulked out of the bedroom.

The service that morning was wonderful Cynthia thought. The music, the psalms, the sermon. Although she did not fully understand the meaning of all the texts, they still somehow spoke to her. Sat in the pew, cold and hard against her back, she was captivated, her eyes unable to leave the sanctuary in front of her. The other children around her fidgeted restlessly, Cynthia was motionless.

The Miller's were a well-known family at St Benedict's. The family had lived in the parish for several generations, Cynthia's grandfather was a church warden and her father served on the parish council. Most of the parishioners had known Cynthia and David since the day they were born and throughout the war, many would save a toffee or a rhubarb and custard from their sweet rations to give to them on a Sunday morning.

"Good morning Miss Miller, Master Miller," a smartly-attired elderly gentleman called, doffing his hat as he did so.

"Good morning Mr Errington!" Cynthia and David replied.

"This is for being good," Mr Errington whispered into the children's ears, and pressed a silver sixpence into each of their hands.

"Thank you," they replied, beaming from ear to ear, their eyes as twinkly as the old man's in front of them.

"Ethel, your Cynthia is an angel," Reverend Albright said to Cynthia's mother as, from the church porch, they watched Cynthia, who, rather than playing hopscotch on the path as the other children were now doing, appeared deep in conversation with two middle aged ladies.

Ethel Miller smiled and let out a small giggle, "she's never this good at home, unless she's really concentrating on something, otherwise she's a bit of a terror to be honest."

"How old is she now?" Reverend Albright enquired.

"She's coming up to fourteen," Ethel replied, "she wants to stay on at school."

"Does she know what she wants to do when she finishes?"

"She's always been very keen on nursing, she'll have to go to London to do the training, but, well, why do you ask?"

"Oh no reason," Reverend Albright replied rather sullenly.

"Well I must be off," Ethel chirped, noticing her husband waving at her from the gate to the churchyard, "see you next week Reverend."

"Goodbye Mrs Miller."

Reverend Albright, like most of the parish, was fond of Cynthia Miller. She was bright, kind, and, even as a child, provided sharp and engaging conversation. Above all, she had shown a great interest and aptitude for theological study, often asking him for help with her homework, or to explain in more detail matters raised in his sermons. He had thought for some time that Cynthia had many of attributes required for the holy orders, so the news that she seemed keen on another path vexed him somewhat. Nevertheless, he would ask her all the same.

Reverend Albright searched for the opportune moment to talk to Cynthia alone for several weeks, but every time he saw her, either she was surrounded by friends or family, or the needs of his parishioners had to come first. His moment came one Friday night as the parish youth club met in the church hall. As usual, Cynthia and David were in attendance. David made straight for his group of friends who were sat in the corner, passing a large bottle of cream soda between themselves and having an animated discussion about who they thought would win the football the following afternoon. Cynthia wandered around the room for a moment, said a polite "hello, and how are you?" to all the girls, before pulling a large leather-bound volume from her satchel and settled herself on a cushion in the corner. Reverend Albright watched her for a moment then sidling over to her said,

"That's a very large book to be reading on a Friday night."

Cynthia looked up from the book and smiled at Reverend Albright.

"Gray's Anatomy!" Cynthia replied with glee, "I found it in the library this afternoon and I just had to read it. I want to be a nurse you see."

Reverend Albright's heart sank in his chest. He hoped his disappointment was not evident on his face, but, too late, Cynthia read him as easily as she had read the text in front of her."

"Do you think I shouldn't be a nurse?" Cynthia enquired in a small, and evidently puzzled tone.

"No, no, not at all," Reverend Albright replied, "I think nursing is an admirable profession."

"But?" Cynthia asked, eying Reverend Albright with suspicion.

"Oh, um, er."

"Please, tell me," Cynthia encouraged quietly.

"Well," Reverend Albright began, "I, well, it's a bit of a silly idea really, but." Reverend Albright paused for a moment, composing himself. "As you may know, many men, and women, feel, called, to live their lives in the service of God, and I wondered, if."

"I had ever considered becoming a nun?" Cynthia finished the sentence for him.

"Um, yes," Reverend Albright squirmed awkwardly, feeling his insides tumble and his stubbly cheeks flush slightly.

Cynthia pondered the Reverend's suggestion for a few moments, her eyes, narrowing in concentration, flickering between the floor, her copy of Gray's Anatomy, and Reverend Albright.

"No, not really," she replied "what made you think that?"

"You, er, well," Reverend Albright replied, but seeing Cynthia's eyebrows disappearing into her hairline, he added "forget it, forget I ever mentioned it. I can see that your mind and your heart are set on other things. You will make a wonderful nurse. I am sure of it."

"Well I shall do my best," Cynthia replied cheerfully, and returned to her copy of Gray's Anatomy.


	5. Chapter 5

December 1945

"What is she like in your classes Sister Madeline?"

"Patience's written work is fluent and informed, but she remains silent, Mother."

"And yours Sister Bridget?"

"Again, she is clearly intelligent and a talented girl, but she never utters a word past 'good morning Sister or good afternoon Sister.'"

The Carmelite Sisters of Saint Agnes' convent school sat round the long wooden table in the refectory late in the evening a few days before Christmas. The girls who remained at the school for the holidays had been sent to bed and the hour of Compline was fast approaching. The fire crackled in the grate and the snow was beginning to tumble down outside the ornate mullion windows. Teacups were refilled, the plate of biscuits passed around, yet the mood amongst the Sisters remained subdued.

"Has there been any news in the search for her father?" Sister Evelyn asked.

"No," Mother Gertrude replied, "nothing at all so far."

"Does she have any other family?" Sister Philomena enquired.

"Not now," Mother Gertrude confirmed, "her mother's two younger brothers died in North Africa, her father was an only child. Her grandparents have also passed away."

Quiet murmurs and soulful sighs filled the room. Mother Gertrude then continued,

"Do any of you see her talk with the other girls?"

The room was filled again with a combination of murmurings, musings and the ruffle of brown and white wimples and habits as their owners shook their heads. Mother Gertrude let out a small sigh into the hum and turned her eyes to her lap.

"She seems to enjoy PT," Sister Roisin remarked thoughtfully, "she talks to the others on the hockey field. Though." The young PT teacher stopped mid-sentence and looked ponderously between her Sisters.

"In the changing room afterwards she sits alone and in silence?" Mother Gertrude enquired.

"Yes," Sister Roisin murmured, "as though she's not comfortable being there. Or that she's afraid of something, or someone."

"Do we know if she is being bullied by the other girls?" Mother Gertrude asked.

Each of the assembled Sisters shook their heads.

"It's not that they don't like her, I don't think the girls really know what to say to her," Sister Veronica suggested, "I know many of our girls have had their lives blighted by the war, but none of them have known the horrors that Patience has." Sister Veronica's whole body twitched at the thought. "I don't think any of us can truly understand what she has been through."

"Perhaps if one of us went and talked to her," Sister Madeline suggested, "ask her what's wrong."

"I don't think an interrogation is what the girl needs," Sister Philomena replied, "she needs to gain someone's absolute trust before she'll open up. I think the fact she has been near silent in the four months she has been here is testament to that."

"Well what then?" Sister Bridget huffed disparagingly, "PT is the only thing that seems to promote any kind of a reaction from the girl, and how is that going to help?"

"Perhaps it might," Mother Gertrude mused, "I wonder."

The assembled nuns looked at their Mother Superior with a combination of suspicion and bewilderment. A wry smile began to creep across Mother Gertrude's face.

"I think it might be time to get my old fencing gear out again."

With that Mother Gertrude stood up and strode purposefully out of the room, the sense of sheer bewilderment and intrigue overwhelming her Sisters.

Mother Gertrude opened the door to her cell and pulled open her wardrobe door. At the bottom lay an old gym bag. She picked it up and tipped the contents onto the floor. The breeches and tunic, a little threadbare and crumpled, looked as though they might still fit, she thought, holding them up against her body, the sabre, perhaps not as shiny as she kept it in her competitive days, but serviceable nonetheless. She twirled the sabre in front of her, taking a flying lunge at her reflection in the mirror. Smiling to herself, she lay the kit on her bed, walked back out through the door. With an uncharacteristic spring in her step and a girlish grin on her face, Mother Gertrude joined her sisters in Compline.

Christmas Day at St Agnes' was always a day of mixed emotions. The Sisters had no objections to spending the day with their pupils, and they ensured a good time was had by all, but every member of the community were well aware that the only reason their young guests joined them for Christmas was because they had nowhere else to go. Throughout the meal, Mother Gertrude watched Patience carefully. There was a smile on her face as she pulled a cracker with her neighbour and she responded politely when Sister Philomena asked if she would like a second helping of plum pudding, but there was a darkness in her eyes, a shadowy echo of times long ago.

Later that evening, Mother Gertrude climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the school house attic, where the boarding girls slept. The door was ajar, so Mother Gertrude slipped inside. The dormitory was a long, cavernous room, its oak gables holding up a high ceiling. Flickering glows of oil lamps danced on the white washed walls, lined down the full length by thirty or so metal-framed beds, each covered with an old grey blanket. Asides from a small wooden ottoman and a chamber pot by each bed, the only other furnishing in the room was a large wooden crucifix. The windows were curtain-less and the bare wooden boards rough and cold. A number of girls were sat on their beds, talking amongst themselves, but when they realised that Mother Gertrude had entered the room, the chattering subsided and the girls sprang to their feet and chorused monotonously,

"Good evening Reverend Mother."

Mother Gertrude nodded curtly and continued her progress down the dormitory. She stopped at the bed furthest from the door where a red-haired girl was standing. She had filled out somewhat since she had arrived at St Agnes', but was still painfully thin. Her blue eyes met Mother Gertrude's.

"Patience, I would like to see you in my office at eight-thirty tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Reverend Mother," Patience replied quietly, a look of fear etched upon her face.

"Good," Mother Gertrude chirped as she began to stride back up the dormitory towards the door, "and now girls," she continued, spinning on her heels, "say your prayers, for it has been a lovely day. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Reverend Mother," came the same monotonous chorus.

Mother Gertrude closed the door behind her, slid the heavy bolt across it and began down the stairs.

Patience's mind suddenly flooded with concerns. "What on earth did Reverend Mother want?"

The other, more easily vocalised, concerns of her fellow dorm-mates filled the room.

"Has she locked it already?"

"But I need the lav!"

"Well you know where the pots are!"

"Oh, but!"

"Whatever happened to the promise of extra supper?"

"That was never going to happen!"

In the din, the other girls barely noticed Patience Mount, curled into her sagging mattress, hidden from view below a wisp of blanket, every fabric of her being fearing the worst possible outcome.


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast the following morning Patience crept along the corridor towards Mother Gertrude's office. Seeing the vast black door closed on her arrival, she took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles upon it.

"Enter," Mother Gertrude's voice resonated from within.

Nervously, Patience grasped the handle and pushed it down firmly. It gave an almighty creak as she did so and it set her teeth on edge. She crept round the door and inside Mother Gertrude's vast, whitewashed office.

"Ah Patience," Mother Gertrude called as she saw who was at the door, "take a seat," she added, gesticulating at a large wooden chair in front of her.

Patience obliged and looked at Mother Gertrude expectantly. Mother Gertrude had spent most of the morning rehearsing the conversation she was going to have with Patience over and over again in her mind, but now she realised that she did not have a clue what to say to the girl staring back at her from the other side of the mahogany writing desk. The silence lingered awkwardly.

"Patience, how are you?" Mother Gertrude asked eventually, unable to stand the silence any longer.

"I'm well thank you, Reverend Mother," Patience replied.

Silence descended again when Patience failed to elaborate any further. Mother Gertrude gave a large inward sigh. There was no point beating about the bush, she had to get straight to the point.

"I understand from Sister Roisin that you are rather fond of PT?"

"Yes," Patience replied, a little taken aback.

"Excellent," Mother Gertrude continued, not entirely sure of where she was directing the conversation, "because, I was wondering, well, I'm thinking of adding my sport, fencing, to the PT programme, and whether you would like me to teach you first, before the other girls, I mean." Mother Gertrude squirmed slightly at the awkwardness of her statement.

Patience pondered the suggestion for a moment. She was not entirely sure what fencing was, nor why the Reverend Mother would have selected her for preferential treatment, such things were unknown at St Agnes', particularly towards the charity girls.

"Alright," Patience replied.

"Good," Mother Gertrude said brightly. It was at that moment when she saw what little colour there was in Patience's cheeks drain away, "are you sure you are well, Patience?" she enquired.

"Yes," Patience murmured, "I was, oh it doesn't matter," she added quickly.

"What is troubling you child?"

"I thought you wanted to see me because you had news of my father," Patience sighed, her eyes widening and her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"Ah," Mother Gertrude replied, "no I'm afraid not, not yet."

A deadly silence crept across the room again. When she could stand the awkwardness no longer, Mother Gertrude said,

"We'll begin on Monday, meet me in the gym hall after supper, now, run along."

"Yes Reverend Mother," Patience murmured, and backing slowly out the door, made a retreat to the safety of the dormitory.

"Are you in trouble Patience?" a tall, dark-haired girl asked her.

Patience was taken aback by the girl's question and for a moment no sound came out of her mouth. Eventually, she managed to stammer,

"Oh no, Lizzy, nothing like that." She tried to smile reassuringly, but had a strong suspicion that it appeared somewhat grimace-like.

"Oh," Lizzy replied somewhat downheartedly, having obviously been eager for some gossip, "well that's good then."

"Yes," Patience replied, before side-stepping around Lizzy and retreating to her bed in the corner of the room.

Monday evening soon came about and, dressed in her ill-fitting red and white gym kit, Patience shuffled into the gym, her plimsolls squeaking as she did so. It was cold in there and goose-bumps immediately erupted across her bare arms and legs, causing her whole body to shiver. Mother Gertrude was stood at the other end of the gym, dressed from head to toe in white and holding a strangely shaped mask in one hand, and a long, thin, sword in the other. Patience was taken aback.

"Ah there you are," Mother Gertrude remarked, noticing Patience's arrival, "put those on," she continued, pointing at a pile of white clothing on the floor beside her, "then take that sabre."

Patience's heart began to race at the sight of the sabre. She had seen something like it before. She had also seen what it could do. She froze in terror.

"Come along," Mother Gertrude barked impatiently when she realised Patience had not moved.

"What, are, you, going, to, do to me?" Patience stammered.

Mother Gertrude's brusque manner and expression dropped suddenly. She realised what Patience was afraid of and her heart sunk like a stone.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Mother Gertrude began, but Patience cut across her.

"Fighting is wrong," she said, defiantly.

The conviction of Patience's remark startled Mother Gertrude, so long had the girl been so meek and mild. For a moment she had no idea what to say in response, but there was no need.

"I'm sorry," Patience apologised, "I spoke out of turn, please forgive me."

"There is no need to apologise child," Mother Gertrude replied, "you…"

"I don't want to upset anyone," Patience rambled, "I upset people when I'm, angry, so if I don't talk, I can't upset anyone, can I? That's why we are here, isn't it Reverend Mother?" she finished astutely.

"Yes," Mother Gertrude admitted.

"Perhaps I should go," Patience murmured.

"No, no," Mother Gertrude pleaded, "please stay."

Patience had begun to shuffle across the floor towards the door, but stopped still, anticipating Mother Gertrude's next move.

"You have every right to be angry, Patience," Mother Gertrude continued, "you have suffered a terrible injustice and witnessed things no-one, especially a child, should ever have to. I want to help you. Fencing is about self-discipline, control, a sense of achievement. It certainly isn't about hurting people. I think it will help you. Do you want to try?"

Patience nodded and, when she saw a smile spread over Mother Gertrude's face, she picked up the pile of fencing gear and began to put it on. When she had finished she picked the sabre up and looked up expectantly.

"Hold it like this," Mother Gertrude began, adjusting Patience's grip on the sabre's handle, "then I want you to try to hit me with the point of the blade, and I'll try to block you. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt," she added, reassuringly.

Patience nodded in reply.

"Ready, three, two, one, go."

With a swirl of white and a flash of steel, Patience lunged at Mother Gertrude, and, too fast for her target to defend herself, shot the sabre into the centre of Mother Gertrude's stomach. Mother Gertrude recoiled slightly, then looked up at Patience, but, instead of seeing the frightened, apologetic look she was expecting, she could have sworn that there was a wry smile across her face.

"Well," Mother Gertrude began, straightening herself up, "I was going to play nicely, but."

Her voice trailed off as she made a move towards Patience, but once again, Patience was quick, and was able to counteract the move. Mother Gertrude stood back.

"It seems you are quite good," Mother Gertrude said, matter-of-factly, "I'll have to be careful, you might beat me one day."

"Oh I do hope so," Patience replied in confident defiance.


	7. Chapter 7

June 1955

"Are you sure you want to go all that way?" Ethel asked her daughter.

"It's no further away than St Thomas'," Cynthia protested, "and you didn't mind me going there for my training."

"Well, I know dear, but, I thought you would, come back, get a nice little job in the cottage hospital."

"I don't want a job in the cottage hospital," Cynthia continued, her arms folded across her chest, a red-tinge of anger illuminating her cheeks, "I'm needed in Poplar, I've accepted the position at Nonnatus House."

"Have you consulted your father about this?"

"I'm twenty-three years…" Cynthia began.

"And therefore quite capable of making a decision for herself."

Ethel and Cynthia turned round to find Roy Miller stood in the doorway, his greying hair ruffled by the wind, the collar of his shirt open and a gently smoking pipe in his hand.

"Roy," Ethel began.

"She's not a child, Eth, let her grow up. This is what she wants, she's worked hard for this, passed all those exams, she can't waste all that."

"No, I suppose not," Ethel murmured.

"When do you start?" Roy asked, turning to his daughter.

"A week on Monday," Cynthia replied.

"Well, you'd better get packing then hadn't you?" Roy beamed, flashing a wink at Cynthia.

"Yes, thank you Dad," Cynthia replied, throwing both arms around her father's neck.

"You live your dream sweetheart," Roy replied, patting his daughter's back affectionately whilst flashing daggers at his wife who was glaring at him with equal malice.

A week on Monday soon arrived and Cynthia found herself waving her parents goodbye out of the carriage window of the express train to London. She had made the journey many times during her student days, but as she waved goodbye this time it seemed all the more poignant, as though the destination of this journey was somewhat less temporary than the nurse's home at St Thomas'. Nonnatus House, from what she understood from a brief conversation she had had with someone called Julienne, who she assumed was the Matron, would not only be her new workplace, but also her new home.

"Perhaps the nurses live there so they can be on hand for emergencies," Cynthia had thought, "yes that would be the reason for that set up."

The express train, the Tube and then the bus from Aldgate took Cynthia ever closer to her new life, and as they did so, the nervous excitement which she had been suppressing for the previous fortnight rose ever closer to the surface. By the time she turned into Leyland Street, her heart was racing and her legs quivered like jelly.

Walking up to the dirty red-brick edifice in front of her, she knocked on the door of Nonnatus House. After a moment a young woman opened the door. She was about the same height as Cynthia, and, as far as Cynthia could tell, a few years older than her. She had a pale, oval face, with huge topaz-blue eyes, framed by a pair of round glasses. She was dressed very strangely, not quite a nurse and not quite a nun, but even under the unflattering garb, Cynthia could tell she was pretty and possessed a shapely figure.

"Hello, I'm Cynthia Miller," she managed to say, "I've been told to report to, Sister, Julienne."

"Greetings," came an unexpectedly Scottish reply, Cynthia felt her eyes widen in astonishment, "I'm Sister Bernadette, do come in, we have been expecting you."

"Thank you, Sister," Cynthia replied, passing over the threshold. There was a puzzled tone in her voice which Sister Bernadette had instantly detected.

"No-one told you we are nuns did they?"

"No," Cynthia admitted, following Sister Bernadette down a corridor and into a warm, inviting kitchen.

"Well, Nonnatus House is run by the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, nurses, midwives and fully professed Anglican nuns. Are you religious Nurse Miller?"

"Um, "Cynthia began, "I used to go a lot when I was younger, but have sort of fallen out the habit," she murmured, aware she was being scrutinised.

"Well," Sister Bernadette said brightly, "perhaps you could think about joining us occasionally in chapel on a Sunday, now, would you like some tea?"

"Yes please."

Sister Bernadette smiled brightly and picked up the heavy copper kettle from the top of the coke stove and turned the tap over the large Belfast sink. Water erupted noisily out the tap and the pipework reverberated around the kitchen."

"Don't worry, it always does that," Sister Bernadette reassured, "now while this boils, why don't you put your case in your new room, top floor, the one with your name on it."

Cynthia complied and, climbing the stairs, Cynthia pondered her new companion. "She's very young to be a nun," she thought.

By the time Cynthia returned to the kitchen, Sister Bernadette was sat at the long wooden table, and in front of her sat a large teapot, cups and saucers, milk, cakes, a loaf of bread, cheese, chutneys, jams, and rather curiously, a small crate of bananas.

"A present from Mr Parkin, the greengrocer," Sister Bernadette said, once again instantly reading Cynthia's expression, "I delivered his twin boys the other day, please, have as many as you like, I can't stand the taste of them."

"Thank you Sister," Cynthia chirped, astonished at the spread in front of her. She had been half expecting dry bread.

As the two young women began to load up their plates with food, another older nun walked into the kitchen. Sister Bernadette's face lit up as her superior arrived, Cynthia put down her teacup, swallowing the mouthful she had just taken.

"Ah, you must be Nurse Miller," the nun said warmly, taking Cynthia's hand and shaking it firmly, "I am Sister Julienne."

"Hello," Cynthia replied, trying to smile through the jittering nervous which had suddenly overwhelmed her. Kind, young Sister Bernadette had been a gentle introduction, meeting her new employer was another thing entirely.

"When you have finished your tea, wander up to my office and we'll go through a few things, Sister Bernadette will show you where to go, won't you?"

"Yes of course Sister."

Sister Julienne swiped a banana and a piece of Victoria Sponge from the table, and while taking a large bite out of the latter, waltzed out of the kitchen and out of sight.

Fifteen minutes later, Cynthia found herself sat in front of Sister Julienne in her comfy, yet well-ordered office.

"Do you have any questions Nurse Miller?" Sister Julienne asked.

"Not really," Cynthia admitted, "everything is so, well, new, and I'm not entirely sure what I expected."

Sister Julienne smiled kindly, then began, "As you are not yet fully qualified as a midwife, you will be accompanied by one us trained midwives. There are four Sisters here at the moment, myself and Sister Bernadette who you have met already, Sister Evangelina, and Sister Monica Joan, who is now rather elderly and no longer involved in practice. We have two lay staff, Nurse's Gale and Sampson, who you will be able to work with briefly, as they have chosen to move to the next stage in their lives. Our antenatal clinic is on a Tuesday afternoon, there will be lessons each week and any study is to be done in your spare time. Is everything clear?"

"Yes Sister."

"And, as I see from your paperwork you have exceptional qualifications and exemplary references, all I have to say is, welcome to Nonnatus House, Nurse Miller, I hope that you will be very happy here."

"Thank you Sister, I hope so too."

Cynthia left Sister Julienne's office and, suddenly feeling very tired, she dragged herself up to the top floor and lay on her bed. Its metal frame creaked as she moved, trying to get comfy. As she stared at the ceiling, mulling over the events of the day in her mind, a warm sense of contentment enveloped her.

"I belong here," she whispered to the fading light, "this is where I should be."


	8. Chapter 8

August 1955

It came one morning, quite out of the blue. A brown envelope, a little furled at the edges. A handwritten address. The hand was unfamiliar, but not unrecognised. Its loops and curls evoked a time, and a person, long since shut from her mind.

"You're late Mount, get yourself onto ENT now."

House Sister's voice snapped Patience out of the trance-like state which the morning post had evoked. She never got post. Ever. But there was no time for curiosity. Ear, Nose and Throat were calling her.

"Hello, anyone in there?" the Ward Sister barked at Patience several hours later. Patience jolted and nearly dropped the syringe she was holding. "Ah, welcome back," Sister mocked. Patience felt her insides tighten. "Could you kindly remember where you are and stop daydreaming, you have patients to attend to."

"Yes Sister."

At six o'clock that evening, Patience's usually weary trudge back to the nurse's home was carried out with somewhat more spring than usual. Bouncing her way up the endless flights of stairs, Patience pushed her bedroom door open, threw off her shoes, cap and sleeves and slumped onto her bed. She retrieved her letter from where she had tossed it that morning, tore apart the envelope, and with widening eyes and an ever-increasing heartbeat, she began to read.

"My dearest Patsy,

It's a funny thing really. I have spent so long, hoping and praying that I would see you again, and of all the things that I would say to you if we were reunited, but now I am struck dumb. I have a few affairs to settle in London, please contact me on 6173.

I love you my darling,

Yours forever,

Dad."

Dad. Yes, that is what it said. The strangely familiar hand now had a face to match. He was alive. Throwing on a shirt and a pair of slacks and jumping back into her shoes, armed with a clutch of pennies, Patsy thundered back down the stairs, out into the summer evening, through the wrought-iron gates of the nurse's home and out onto the street. She did not stop running until she was outside the payphone on the corner. Nervously, she dialled the number and dropped the pennies into the slot. The whirring of the line seemed to last an eternity.

"Gerry Mount speaking," came a wonderfully familiar response. Patsy's heart leapt for joy.

"Daddy!"

"Patsy, is that you?" Gerry's voice choked on every syllable.

"Yes, it's me." Tears of elation and disbelief were beginning to stream down Patsy's cheeks. "Where are you?" she managed to stutter.

"A B&B in Islington," Gerry replied matter-of-factly.

"A B&B in Islington," Patsy gasped, "a B&B in Islington" she repeated, "how can you be so nonchalant when the last time I saw you I was nine years old and we were living on the other side of the world."

Patsy stopped to draw breath, her frustration mixing with the cocktail of emotions that were already coursing through her body, but they suddenly lifted when she heard a familiar guffaw from the other end of the line.

"Oh Patsy," Gerry gasped through his laughter, "you are a picky thing aren't you? I apologise for my attitude, my dear."

"I suppose I could forgive you," Patsy replied, her brusqueness disappearing with every word until, like her father, she was also laughing.

The two of them laughed to each other, then fell silent, neither really knowing what to say. Eventually, Gerry said,

"How are you?"

Patsy had no idea how to answer such a question to the disembodied voice at the end of the line, the voice of a person she had believed to have died many years ago. There was so much to say, so much she wanted to say, yet this was not a conversation for now.

"Can I see you?" she eventually blurted out.

"I would love that more than anything," Gerry replied, "when?"

"Tomorrow, for lunch?" Patsy suggested.

"Come to Lyons Corner House," Gerry said, "one o'clock?"

"Perfect," Patsy replied, "see you then, I love you," she added.

"I love you too," Gerry replied, "goodnight my angel."

Patsy replaced the receiver and skipped out of the telephone box. Tears of joy and ecstasy tumbled down her cheeks, but she did not care. She danced down the street, ignoring the questioning stares of passers-by. She was in her own patch of heaven, and no-one could take that away from her.

"Mount!"

Reality hit Patsy with alarming force. House Sister was stood at the entrance to the nurse's home.

"Yes Sister," Patsy responded far too brightly.

"What do you think you were doing? You are on a public highway, not a dance floor."

Patsy drew herself up to her full height. Usually terrified of House Sister, today was different, there was a fire in her belly and a passion in her eyes.

"Dancing, Sister, for my father is alive, and I think that calls for a celebration, don't you think?"

House Sister looked stunned.

"So, if you don't mind," Patsy continued, "I'm going to continue dancing to the Rose and Crown and buy myself a large Scotch, goodnight Sister."

"How dare…" House Sister began to shout, by Patsy did not hear her, she continued to skip down the street, not caring about the consequences she would face in the morning.

As Patsy sobered up from the Scotch the following morning, the reality of the situation finally hit her. Her father was alive. She was going to have lunch with him. But who was he? Would she recognise him? Would he recognise her? She was a child last time they had been together, now she was a grown woman. The passage of time no doubt would have affected him too. She pondered this as the bus rattled through the crowded streets towards Islington, wondering what was going to happen.

Alighting from the bus, Patsy strode up to the door of Lyons Corner House. Taking a deep breath to control her nerves, she pushed the door open and looked around. Her eyes fell on a middle-aged gentleman, sat alone in the corner directly opposite her. He looked about the right height, as far as she could tell and remember and about the right age. He was dressed smartly, just as her father always was. Was it him? She was not sure. She stared at him for a moment. He did not look up. No-one else in the room batted an eyelid, as though none of them knew she was there. There was nothing else to do, she could not linger in the doorway. Taking another breath she walked purposely over to the man.

"Excuse me," she began, "I'm looking for a Gerr…"

She was not allowed to finish her sentence. Her father stood up, threw both arms around her middle and picked her up off the ground.

"Patsy, oh my love," he whispered through joyous tears into her ear, "I knew it was you, I just knew."

The two stood in the centre of the Corner House, unable to anything but share the embrace. When they eventually broke apart and sat at the table, they just stared at each other, grinning.

"I just, can't believe it," Patsy stuttered after a moment, "what happened?"

"I'll order some coffee," Gerry replied gravely, "and then I'll begin."

Coffee, a plate of sandwiches and two cream cakes were ordered and as they began to eat, Gerry began his story.

"When we knew that Singapore was under threat, every British man who was there, soldier, diplomat or businessman, had to prepare to defend the territory. But the Japanese came so quickly, we were overrun. I, I, I got out." Gerry's voice began to choke. Patsy took her father's hand.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I escaped the city, got out on a fishing boat. I'll never forgive myself." He began to cry, silently to avoid attention, but there were tears nonetheless. "I cowardly left my family behind, I ran away scared, I saved myself and left you to die. I'm so sorry."

"Dad," Patsy whispered, "I don't hate you."

"You don't?"

"No."

"What happened to you, and Mum, and Lizzy?"

"We were taken to Changi, Mum and Lizzy both succumbed to starvation and dysentery. I survived and was brought to England, sometime after the Japanese surrendered. I was sent to a convent school." Patsy shuddered. "And then when I left I went to nursing school, I'm on my final practice before I qualify."

"I guessed that from your address," Gerry remarked, "well done sweetheart, I'm very proud of you."

Gerry reached out and ran his hand down Patsy's arm.

"So that's me, what happened, after the fishing boat?"

"We were picked up by a merchant navy vessel, and I ended up serving with them for most of the rest of the war. After the war, I went back to Singapore for a time, but nothing was the same, we weren't welcome anymore. So I wrote to Charlie and Lavinia Montague, you remember their son Bertie, don't you?"

Patsy nodded at a faint memory of a dark-haired gangly boy of about nineteen who had been staying with them once in Singapore.

"They allowed me a room in their house in Gloucestershire, and from there I began my search." Patsy's blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "For you three," Gerry finished.

"What took you so long? The war ended ten years ago," Patsy demanded.

"For a while I didn't want to search," Gerry admitted, "his eyes unable to meet his daughter's "because I was too afraid to find out what happened. When I finally admitted to myself that I needed to do it, well, getting hold of records was not easy. Eventually, I learned that your Mum and Lizzy had died, but that was it. Nothing about how, or where, or where they were buried. Just that they were dead. But, there were records of you. You didn't seem to be dead, but trying to find you alive was not easy either. By the time I learned that you had been sent to that convent school, you had already left. The Mother Superior said that all she knew about where you had gone was that you went into nursing, so I scoured the hospitals and nursing colleges the length and breadth of the country. Until I found you. I never gave up, I couldn't give up. I'd failed you enough."

"Thank you, for finding me," Patsy murmured.

"I'm so glad I did, I cannot remember the last time I felt this happy."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind of memories and emotions as Patsy and Gerry continued to talk. They sat there until closing time, and as they stepped out onto the street, Gerry said,

"Something you haven't mentioned, is there a young man on the scene by any chance?"

"No, no, not at the moment," Patsy replied.

"Well, let me know when there is," Gerry chirped, "I'll have to make sure he's suitable."

Patsy laughed, "If you must!"

"I don't want anyone else to hurt you."

"I know, thank you," Patsy replied, hugging her father.

As they loosened their embrace, Gerry reached into his briefcase and pulled out two large bottles of Scotch.

"I was saving these for myself, but since you like it too," he began handing Patsy the bottles, "you can have them, save them for when you get your first job, I always saw never start a new venture without a bottle of something sociable."

"Dad, I'll be in trouble if I'm caught with these," Patsy began.

"You'll have to make sure you don't get caught, won't you," Gerry said winking, "go on now, I'll see you soon, I promise."

"Goodbye Dad," Patsy said, pulling him into one last hug, "see you soon."


	9. Chapter 9

September 1955

West Sussex in early autumn always brought a cheer to Novice Winifred's heart. The grounds of the Mother House were beginning to sparkle with splashes of colour, the last hints of summer sun lighting up the heavy, crystal-like dew. Mother Jesu had sent her into town for provisions for the House, and she had taken the opportunity to spend some of that glorious Saturday morning strolling through the town, thanking God for the beauty and happiness which he had given her. In a daze-like state she strolled until she heard a familiar voice in the crowd.

"Rosa?"

A buxom red-haired woman stared at her. A smile spread across Novice Winifred's face at the sight of her old friend.

"Oh my goodness," Molly gasped, "it is you isn't it. But what happened?"

Molly eyed her friend from head to toe, from wimple to flat lace-ups. It had been several years since she had last seen her former drinking partner, and of course, people change. But Molly could not have imagined this beyond her wildest dreams.

Novice Winifred giggled and hugged her best friend before saying,

"Well, it's a bit of a long story really, have you got time for a coffee and a chat, like we used to?"

"You mean a hangover cure and a moan?" Molly corrected her, "that's probably the only time we drank coffee!"

Novice Winifred started giggling again and the two women wandered through Chichester town centre to one of their favoured former haunts. They ordered coffee and sat by the window. They remained silent for a few minutes before Molly asked,

"So, what happened?"

"I am Novice Winifred, of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, an order of nursing nuns" she began.

"Winifred?"

"Yes, after a seventh century Welsh saint. She was murdered by her suitor who was so outraged that she became a nun that he decapitated her."

"And you re-named yourself after her?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"But what brought this on Ro…I mean Novice Winifred."

"Do you remember that Friday night when we went to Chichester?"

"We used to do that regularly!"

"Yes alright I know that, but the night when we went straight from school, when I borrowed that beautiful green dress and those matching stilettos from you?"

"Oh, yes, vaguely," Molly replied, thoughtfully.

"Well, that night was the night when I began to question what I wanted in my life. What I truly wanted."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked.

"I didn't really want to go to Chichester that night, I much rather fancied a quick one in the Ostler and Groom and an early night, but I had promised you that we'd go. But as I was sat there with you, I began to question why I was going out drinking every week, what was I getting out of it?

Molly's flashing green eyes narrowed in confusion at her friend's words. Novice Winifred continued.

"I remember sitting in that lovely new bar, with a cocktail in my hands, watching you Molly, dancing with every man who approached the table, wishing that I could have as much fun as you were. Even when I danced with, David, who was, unlike so many others, a true gentleman, although I felt safe in his embrace, something wasn't right."

"You left early that night didn't you?

"Yes, I made the excuse that I was tired, really I was, almost frightened."

"Of what?"

"What I was, and what I was becoming."

Molly had no idea how to respond to her friend's proclamation, so she remained silent.

"I lay awake for hours that night," Novice Winifred continued, "vexed by something, deeply perturbing, but its elusiveness prevented an identification. I thought of the kind young man I had danced with, his brown eyes that shone, his hair, so neatly done, his smile, the gentle words he had whispered to me, the firm, but tender embrace in which he clasped me to him as we danced. It should have been wonderful, but somehow, it wasn't, and I didn't know why."

"So when did you know it was, God, calling you."

"Do you remember when Mr Bailey sold Man of Aberdour to Farmer Russell after he finished racing?"

"That great big black horse? Yes, I remember," Molly replied with an ever growing sense of confusion.

"And remember what happened?"

"Yes, when Farmer Russell realised that a Thoroughbred would never be a carthorse and that he was far too highly strung for Sam to hunt on, they just kept him in the stable so much that he wouldn't come out anymore. But what has that got to do with this?"

Molly was persistent, but Novice Winifred would not be hurried. She took a few sips of her coffee, wiped her lips on a napkin, and then continued.

"All that gentle persuasion, trying to get him out his stable, nothing ever worked, he'd come half out, as though thinking about it, then retreat back in again, until the day that Dr Mulligan's car backfired, and the noise startled him so much that he bolted, jumped the paddock fence and ran round bucking and squealing. Then he never went back into the stable again."

"So what was your back-firing car?" Molly enquired.

"Meeting Mother Jesu Emanuel again."

"Who?"

"Mother Jesu Emanuel, the Reverend Mother of our Order. She, and two of the other Sister's came to school a few years ago, do you remember, when we needed the nit nurses."

"Oh, yeh," Molly admitted, "I do remember, could never do that job, oh." Molly's voice trailed off and her freckled cheeks flushed slightly. "Sorry," she added, "what do you mean again?"

"Mother Jesu, or Sister as she was then, nursed Kitty when she had her accident, and I helped her and, even then, something about her, and her life, struck a chord with me. At the time I was still too young to fully understand what it was, but when we met again, we spent time talking that afternoon. She encouraged me to think more deeply, to pray, to see if God was calling me to the religious life. After many months, I came to a decision. A hard decision, I admit, but I think it was the right one. After time as a Postulant, I have three years of my Novitiate, then, God willing, I will take my final vows."

Novice Winifred's monologue had stunned Molly into silence. The former had nothing to add, the latter could make no additions. They sat in awkward silence. Biting her lip, Molly took a deep breath and said,

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," Novice Winifred admitted, "happier than I have ever been."

"In that case, I am very happy for you, and support you thoroughly. I'll be here for you, if you ever need me."

Novice Winifred felt the hot prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes. She took Molly's hands in hers and smiled.

"Thank you," she squeaked, "that means so much to me."

"But why didn't you tell me before?" Molly asked handing Novice Winifred her handkerchief.

"I was too scared to, I thought you wouldn't accept me."

"I have known you since we were three years old, you are the closest friend I have ever had, and I could never do that to you. I admit, you're mad, but I could never not accept you."

Both girls looked at each other and started laughing again. "Oh Molly, thank you so much. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You don't have to, just promise me that you won't go into hiding again, you are allowed visitors aren't you? I want to see you more often."

"I'm sure we are," Novice Winifred pondered, "I'll ask when I get back, oh no!" She squeaked her final statement, clasping her hand over her mouth.

"What?" Molly enquired.

"I should've been back by now, they need these things for lunch. I must go."

Novice Winifred bundled her things together and began to fumble her way out of the door. Molly followed her.

"See you soon," Molly said, giving Novice Winifred a hug.

"Yes, you will, I'll make sure of it," Novice Winifred replied, and, with a wave and a smile, began to run up the street in the direction of the Mother House.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Sorry I have not been as quick with my updates on this one as I usually am, my PhD and my undergraduates got in the way, as they do!**

* * *

><p>April 1958<p>

"Ya needed Nurse Mount."

Patsy looked mournfully at her partly eaten shepherd's pie and groaned.

"Really Perkins?" she asked the dishevelled porter, "why?"

"New nurse or summin'" Perkins replied shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "oh and Tracey's on 'is way up, changed his round."

"Mr Tracey!?" Patsy gasped, and then, as a horrifying thought crossed her mind, added, "the new girl."

Perkins stood watching in astonishment as Patsy began to shovel forkful after forkful of shepherd's pie into her mouth. She then wiped her lips on a napkin before handing Perkins her plate, called "put that back for me," over her shoulder and scampered out of the dining room and up the stairs towards male surgical. Whizzing round the corner, Patsy was confronted by an unfamiliar girl. A pretty girl, Patsy thought, with dark hair and a kind face, adjusting the cap on her head.

"I say! You're not the girl we've borrowed for male surgical?" Patsy asked.

"Yes, I am," the girl replied, "I'm Jenny Lee."

"Patsy Mount" she began, shaking Jenny's hand "I was on late lunch and they had the porter fetch me. Mr Tracey's brought his ward round forward, and there won't be a single patient flying to attention."

"Isn't it visiting time?" Jenny asked, looking at the fob watch on her chest.

"It would appear he's forgotten," Patsy sighed, "or, more likely, he simply doesn't care. This way."

Patsy led Jenny down the corridor and entered the ward. As they entered, she said,

"Give those wheels a kick," kicking one as she did so, "we need to have them all pointing forwards, and there's to be nothing whatsoever on the lockers."

"What about ashtrays?" Jenny asked, hastily moving a collection of objects off a locker beside an elderly man's bed.

"Mr Gillespie!" Patsy scolded, "you know the rules, you can only smoke during visiting hours."

"If I don't smoke, I can't clear my catarrh. I'll end up on the chest ward," complained Mr Gillespie.

"Just make sure you take me when you go," Patsy replied, hopefully.

"Nurse Mount, where's the patient from B?" Jenny asked, kicking Bed B's wheels.

"Khazi," Mr Gillespie replied, "I thought he had the trots, but he says it's the other way around. Even after that suppository."

"I'll give you a suppository if you don't button it!" Patsy warned.

"Any luck?" Mr Gillespie asked a young blonde man as he re-entered the ward.

"I've told you. When I get lucky, I'll come out of there doing a victory roll!"

"Jimmy?" Jenny said.

Patsy looked up from the bed where she had been adjusting the sheets. She stared between the two of them.

"Hello, Jenny," Jimmy replied, "Do you come here often?"

But Jenny did not have time to answer. At that moment a bark of "ward round!" and the flinging open of the ward door announced Mr Tracey's arrival. Patsy and Jenny both sprang to action.

Five o'clock that evening could not come quickly enough for either Jenny or Patsy. As they walked out of the hospital gates into the mild spring evening, Patsy threw the pins out of her hair and shook her head, feeling the breeze ruffle through it. She gave a sigh and said,

"That's always my favourite part of the evening, the moment I can finally let my hair down."

Both girls looked at each other and smiled.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Patsy continued.

"No," Jenny replied.

"How about a drink?"

"Sounds marvellous," Jenny admitted.

An hour later Patsy and Jenny were sat in The Hand and Shears, a large Scotch in front of the former, a Port and lemon in front of the latter. They had been talking and getting to know each other, but Patsy's earlier curiosity was getting the better of her, and soon she had to ask,

"So, how do you know James Wilson?"

Jenny laughed, "Jimmy and I are old childhood friends, and I've known him as long as I can remember."

Jenny paused and Patsy noticed a slightly wistful look pass across her new friend's face, which, she also noticed, disappeared as soon as Jenny was aware of Patsy's gaze.

"Were you ever…?" Patsy began.

"No," Jenny sighed, "I could never love Jimmy, I…"

"Oh!" Patsy gasped, her eyes widening and her ears pricking up, "why?" she asked, her tone a little more measured.

"I was in love, with a man I could never have," Jenny replied soulfully. Patsy's heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. "Jimmy can only be my friend," Jenny continued in the same tone.

Silence descended for a moment, before Jenny said,

"So are you seeing a chap at the moment?"

"Oh, no, I'm not," Patsy stammered, a little taken aback by the question, but, quickly regaining her composure, quipped "working on male surgical is enough to put you off them for life!"

Jenny burst into laughter and, relieved, Patsy did so too.

"Yes, I bet you've seen a few things in your time!" Jenny replied.

"More than I ever wanted to!" Patsy replied.

The two girls looked at each other and began to laugh again.

Later that night as she lay awake in bed Patsy pondered her day. She had never been in love before, or at least, she did not think she had. Not like Jenny, anyway. She knew the moment she had seen Mr Wilson and her together that there was a connection, a spark. A shared passion that could not be ignited. She had never felt that. Men were a mystery to her. Perhaps she had spent too long on male surgical, seen too much, because men certainly did not make her feel the way Jenny, and the countless other pretty young nurses she had worked with, felt. Was she different? Was she, she shuddered slightly at the thought, an invert? What did that even mean? Why did her heart flutter when Jenny said she could never love Jimmy? Did she notice when she looked at her? Was there something wrong with her?

The next few days passed without too many hitches, though Patsy was aware that Jenny was not settling to hospital work. They had talked about Jenny's life in District Midwifery, and Patsy longed for the freedom which Jenny seemed to have. She longed to escape the drudgery of male surgical, day, after day. On Thursday she was on a late shift, so had decided to take the bus up West to try and clear her head. Strolling through Chelsea, she walked past Robson's the Florist, and a notice in the window caught her attention.

"Vacancies. Apply Within."

"Why not?" she thought, "anything is better than dealing with Tracey."

Mr Robson kindly granted her an interview there and then, and, two hours later as she walked back towards the entrance to The London, she was feeling mightily pleased with herself. Glancing at her watch and, realising she had plenty of time before her shift started, sat down on a bench near the ambulance bay and lit a cigarette. She took a few contented puffs and smiled to herself. It was then she noticed someone walking towards her, and as she got closer, she realised it was Jenny.

"Hello, sweetie! I almost didn't recognise you, out of that beastly uniform. You've been shopping, too!"

"New dress," Jenny replied.

"Going somewhere special?"

"Only out with a friend. On Saturday."

When Jenny elaborated no further, Patsy decided it was best not to pry, so she rapidly changed the subject.

"I've just been for a job interview."

"New hospital?"

"No. At a florist's, in Chelsea. It'll pay a pittance, but at least I won't be spending my time biting my tongue and trying not to wallop people!"

"Do you mean Mr Tracey?" Jenny asked.

"You've been with us for a week and guessed in a trice. I think that speaks volumes," Patsy replied, taking a draw on her cigarette.

"Has anyone ever reported him?"

"He's a surgeon, Jenny! Nobody knows which way he'll turn, we're all tiptoeing about, never able to say what we think, especially not what we think about him. It's as though we're all involved in some gigantic lie. And I'm just not dishonest by nature."

"Nor am I," Jenny replied, "shall we?"

Patsy stamped out the butt of her cigarette and followed Jenny towards the entrance. They walked in silence for a moment before Jenny said,

"Would you really let Mr Tracey drive you to leave nursing?"

Patsy was slightly taken aback by the question and thought about how to phrase an answer for a moment.

"No, but he's making such a good attempt at it that it's getting harder and harder to fight it off."

"There's more to nursing than General Surgery, you've been on that ward two years, why not do something different, something you want to do?"

"Like you do, you mean?"

"Yes, exactly like I do, midwifery is who I am, what I was always meant to do. But Patsy, male surgical is not what you're meant to do, I can tell, you hate it, but you try and hide it behind a façade. But the façade is crumbling."

Jenny's words stirred deep within Patsy. She was right. Of course she was.

"I'd do almost anything to get out of male surgical," Patsy admitted.

"Then do it," Jenny replied.

"You know what, I might just do that!"


	11. Chapter 11

March 1959

Her pale pink, satin, bridesmaid's dress shimmered on its hanger on the wardrobe door, the delicate little shoes, so unpractical, but so special, lay discarded by her bedside table. On her narrow, metal-framed bed at Nonnatus House, sleepy from the length of the day and the strength of the Champagne, but at the same time, buzzing from the thrill of it all, Cynthia lay awake, a smile etched upon her face as she stared into the empty darkness.

"What a day we've had!" Cynthia thought, replaying the day's events in her mind.

The day had started early: her, Jenny and Trixie racing for the shower; the frantic searches for hair grips, blusher and stockings without ladders in them; the dash across from Nonnatus House to All Saints' Church, making it just in time to collect their bouquets and wish Sister Bernadette good luck.

"Sister Bernadette! Mrs Turner," Cynthia corrected her tired mind, "Mrs Shelagh Turner."

What a journey her friend had been on. The kind, warm and friendly little nun whom had welcomed Cynthia so well when she first arrived at Nonnatus House was, in many ways, still the same. No amount of upheaval would change that. But the beautiful, yet charmingly coy, bride whom Cynthia had followed up the aisle that morning was, somehow, not Sister Bernadette. Shelagh, as they would now have to remember to call her, had blossomed from beneath the habit that had shrouded her for ten years, like a butterfly emerging from a prolonged chrysalis state. And what a beautiful butterfly she was. From the curls framing her face, "Who would have thought that Sister Bernadette was blonde!", down the length of her white satin and lace gown, to the delicate shoes on her feet, she was the image of perfection, as if her entire life had led to that moment. It was as though she was always meant to be Mrs Turner.

"But yet," Cynthia thought, "how unexpected."

None of the residents of Nonnatus House, not even famously sharp Trixie, had considered such a possibility. Sister Bernadette, so chaste, so pious, so innocent in many ways, falling in love with a man, a man so, worldly, so, experienced, so much older than her. The announcement of their engagement at Freddie Noakes' christening had shocked them all, but yet, watching them today, waltzing together, he, guiding and protecting her, she, safe and secure in his arms, they all knew it could not have been any other way. The perfect couple, on their perfect, if somewhat belated, day.

"But," Cynthia wondered, "what had lit the first flames of passion between them?"

Did she feel sorry for him? Cynthia recalled a conversation between herself, Trixie and Sister Bernadette about the state that Dr Turner had been turning up to clinic in, and how poor Timothy always looked so unkempt, and that Sister Bernadette had scolded them. Was she already in love then?

Did he need someone? Someone who would keep an eye on his young son as he struggled to make ends meet? Someone who would sew the buttons back onto his clothes which he had neither the time nor the inclination to do? Someone to hold him when he cried? Cynthia remembered the first clinic which Dr Turner attended after Timothy's mother died. Nothing of it was mentioned, of course, but his red eyes and the blotchiness to his unshaven cheeks could only have been caused by one thing.

Was it fate? Or God? Were they always destined to be together? Or was it just love? That indescribable thing. Love.

"When did they realise their feelings for each other?" Cynthia pondered, "How did they know? How did they tell each other?"

The two of them had been tantalisingly private about the whole affair, no amount of teasing and probing over tea and cake at Nonnatus could render any answers. Their private life was just that. Private. And, as a result, as the guests waved them goodbye as they left for their first night together, not even Trixie dared to make risqué comments, though both Cynthia and Jenny suspected that many thoughts on that subject were flitting through Trixie's saucy mind.

The smile broadened on Cynthia's face.

"That's where they'll be," she thought, "together, as husband and wife." She could not help breaking into a giggle.

Straightening her face, Cynthia's eyes then flittered back to the pink dress on her wardrobe door. She remembered how proud and how honoured she felt when Shelagh asked her to be a bridesmaid. She had never been a bridesmaid before, and could not refuse. She hoped she had played her role to the best of her ability. She wondered who might be next. She imagined walking up the same aisle again with Jenny and Trixie, but this time Jenny would be the one in the beautiful white gown, and Alec, not Dr Turner, would be stood at the altar rail. Jenny and Alec seemed so perfect together, Cynthia hoped they would be as happy together as Shelagh and Dr Turner were. And Trixie, beautiful, bubbly Trixie, she could have any man she wanted, all the boys look at her. She's surely to get married soon too. But she could not see herself in the same position, the bridesmaid, but never the bride.

Cynthia took a deep breath and sighed. She had never experienced the feeling of being in love before. At least, not like Shelagh and Jenny. She imagined it must be quite nice to feel a man's arms around you, the look of contentment on Shelagh's face as she danced with Dr Turner that afternoon confirmed that. Despite being surrounded by babies all day, every day, she had never really thought about wanting a family, or being able to have a family before, and again, it seemed like a nice idea. Perhaps.

"Love," she sighed, "what is love?"

Cynthia's eyes darted to the crucifix on her wall. She recalled the words of St John's Gospel 'There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends.' The faith that she had cherished as a child, left to chill in her late teens, and rekindled since she had moved to Nonnatus House had taught her so much, yet so little, about love. What had she done to deserve such love? She was just Cynthia, nobody important, nobody special. Just Cynthia. Yet God loved her, and she, him. A strange sensation had been niggling her for some time now, was she falling in love? Was she finally experiencing the love of God? Was this what the nuns felt, when they were, called? Was that what she was feeling? A calling? A longing? Her thoughts suddenly lunged towards Reverend Albright, and how he once asked her if she had considered being a nun. At the time she thought he was mad, now, she was not so sure.

"Why would he want me? Why would anyone want me?"

Cynthia choked slightly and a single tear began to run down her cheek.

"How can love be so joyous for some, yet so painful for others?"

A rush of anger and jealously rushed through Cynthia at such a force that it alarmed her. She sat up in bed, her breath catching in her throat. More tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Her eyes, as often was the case in times of strain, found the crucifix on the wall again.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, "You told Sister Bernadette, please, please tell me. Soon."


End file.
